


The Man Who Lives Forever

by AngelWithAStory



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Drabble, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Spoilers for ep 68
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8120230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelWithAStory/pseuds/AngelWithAStory
Summary: Percival de Rolo always did have a complicated relationship with death. Spoilers for episode 68





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from The Man Who Lives Forever by Lord Huron because he is such a VM artist it's crazy. 
> 
> I wrote this because I've had a pretty shitty day and coming home from school and friend trouble to my fave actually DYING(!) on Critical Role and suddenly coming down with a migraine didn't do much to lift my mood. 
> 
> This is kind of a fix-it fic mixed in with a bit of character study. And I promise to edit it properly tomorrow when my head stops hurting and I am not uploading from my phone <3

When Percival was five, he found a dead dormouse in the castle gardens. He didn't realise it was dead until his mother pulled him away from the animal’s corpse and took him back inside to wash his hands.

Percival didn't understand why the mouse wasn't moving, it seemed fine. His mother smiled and sat him on her knee, circling him with her arms.

“ _Death is a natural thing, Percy_.” His mother said, like she was telling a fairytale or a fable. “ _That mouse lived a long and happy life, and now it's somewhere better. Eventually, everything will die, but that's okay, because it means that something even greater is going to be born._ ”

“ _There's nowhere better than Whitestone._ ” Percival said, nestling into his mother's arms. “ _Why would the mouse want to leave?_ ”

“ _It didn't have a choice._ ”

 

When Percival was eleven, he watched as his brother’s poked at the corpse of a dead bird with a stick. It was sheer childish curiosity, but Percival felt sick just watching it. 

He felt sorry for the bird, even if they couldn't feel any pain anymore.

Percival walked back into the castle and headed to his room, trying oh so hard not to think about that poor raven.

 

When Percival was eighteen, he watched his family get killed right in front of his eyes. 

He watched as three arrows pierced Cassandra’s chest and she felt into the snow, her blood congealing on impact. 

As the ice cold water of the river swaddled his semi-conscious form and gently carried him in the current, Percival remembered his mother’s words.

It made the burn in his chest more manageable if he kept reminding himself that they were in a better place.

(He knew anywhere was better than Whitestone now.)

 

When Percival was twenty-two, he met Vox Machina.

When Percival was twenty-two, the sight of blood and cadavers no longer upset his stomach, nor did being the cause.

His weapon could obliterate any opponent if he aimed well enough, and he felt only numb when he pulled the trigger.

Watching Vex’s arrows or Vax’s daggers or Grog’s axe and sword didn't affect him either. Vax called him ‘ _cold_ ’. Vex called him ‘ _brave_ ’. Grog and Scanlan called him ‘ _merciless_ ’.

When Percival was twenty-two, he was too far gone to feel disgust.

 

When Percival was twenty-two, Pike died.

He watched the life leave her eyes and felt something in his chest break.

That wasn't beautiful. Or natural. Or necessary.

It was cruel.

Maybe it was because he knew Pike - he liked Pike (though it was hard not to) - or maybe it was his humanity slowly starting to come back to him, but Percival ran just as fast as the others to get her to a temple.

He cried just as hard as the others when Pike’s chest moved again and her eyes fluttered open.

 

When Percival was just turned twenty-three, his sister returned from the dead.

He held her in his arms and listened to her heartbeat against his chest. 

The numbness that had plagued him lifted slightly as he felt his hope ebb back into his life. Cassandra held him tightly and Percival shook as he realised that his sister was alive.

_She was alive she wasn't dead there was beauty in the world again-_

He held onto her tightly and buried his head into her shoulder.

 

When Percival was twenty-three, he killed Vex.

It was an accident.

It should have been him.

It should have let her check for traps.

He should have been smarter, braver, better. He should have-

Percival locked himself in his workshop that night. His lost mother's words played over and over in his head as he worked tirelessly on his apology.

' _It didn't have a choice._ ’

' _Now it's somewhere better._ ’

Percival remembered how his chest burned as he watched Vex’s body slump towards the ground.

He remembered the horror on Vax’s face and the ritual that he gave up his allegiance for.

That night Percival came to his own conclusion.

Death was not beautiful.

It was cold and callous and unfair and _nothing_ about it was beautiful.

Death was an end that eventually everyone would succumb to, but he refused for it to be someone he loved.

Not if he could do something about it.

 

When Percival was twenty-three, he watched Grog fall down in the snow.

He watched as the sword swallowed his soul and Pike desperately fought for her brother’s life.

As Percival crouched in front of Cravenedge, the scars of Orthax amalgamating behind him, he felt his hands shake more than usual.

_Not again.  
_

_Not another one.  
_

_Anyone but them.  
_

_Let them live.  
_

_If anyone’s earned a long life, it's them.  
_

_Spare them.  
_

_Please._

Grog gasped to life but Percival hardly noticed. He was too busy trying to make sure it never happened again.

 

When Percival was twenty-three, they lost Tiberius.

He was the first to spot the familiar red scales in the ice and the snow, but he didn't say a word. They had a mission. They had a goal. Mourning could come later.

But later always came. And Percival tried to stay stoic as they buried Tiberius in his favourite things.

A horrible thought struck him like an arrow through the heart.

They couldn't save Tiberius.

Every death Percival had bared witness to within their ragtag group, they could reverse.

Death wasn't a finality, or even a promise. It was a tragedy that they had always been quick enough - or lucky enough - to avoid.

But not Tiberius.

There was nothing beautiful in how his chromatic scales contrasted with the desolation around him. There was nothing natural about the frozen expression on his face.

But Percival prayed that Tiberius was in a better place now.

 

When Percival was almost twenty-four, he died at the hand of his last enemy.

The necklace Pike had given him had already shattered. He'd already died once, but he'd come back.

The final bullet struck his unconscious form and Percival's lungs stopped.

 

Percival was somewhere he didn't recognise. Somewhere vaguely familiar.

Everything around him was a warm, dark red as far as he could see.

His body didn't ache, but it didn't breathe either. His wounds didn't exist, but Percival wasn't sure he did either.

Percival blinked and a mask appeared in front of him.

A familiar mask.

Porcelain. Bone white. Lifeless.

“ _Hello Raven Queen. I suppose this is it, then._ ” Percival said. His throat felt tight and he tried to pretend he wasn't afraid.

**_Percival._ **

The Raven Queen’s voice came from every direction and nowhere all at once.

_**Someone holds you.** _

“ _What do you mean?_ ”

_**The strings that hold you together have not broken. Someone is holding on.** _

Percival’s heart was in his throat.

_**You have a choice, sweet, broken Percival.** _

“ _I don't understand. I thought I was dead_.”

_**Someone is holding the threads to your life. If you are willing, you can reach for them. It is abhorrent, but it can be done.** _

Percival didn't have to think about it.

“ _There’s still things to do. The world still hangs in the balance, and people still need saving._ ” Percival said. “ _I promised Cassandra I would come back._ ”

Images of his sister’s face flittered across the porcelain mask amongst pictures of Vox Machina. Laughing. Crying. Drinking. Sleeping. Battling.

His family.

They needed him. He needed _them_.

_**Then pull on the thread.** _

Something tugged at Percival’s mind and he was falling.

The red around him fell away to black as any form of footing Percival had was gone in an instant.

He fell.

He fell for what felt like hours.

Something tugged at his heart.

Urging him.

Begging him.

Praying for him.

Percival closed his eyes and reached out to catch Pike’s hand.

 

When Percival was almost twenty-four, he came back to life.

His eyes flared open with bright healing light and his lungs expanded to force air into them. He didn't have time to register the faces looking up at him before he was rolling to the side and retching into the jagged glass below them.

A gentle hand rubbed his back as he coughed and emptied his stomach onto this god-forsaken island that had nearly stolen him away.

Percival sat up, throwing his head back and staring up at the clear blue sky stretched out above him.

Keyleth’s face filled his vision as she threw herself around Percival’s neck, almost smothering him with her hair.

_“Don't you EVER do that again! Got it?”_

Keyleth’s body shook with sobs as she held onto him like she never wanted to let go. He wrapped an arm around her, hating that he'd been the one to do this to her. 

A faint glow caught Percival’s eye and he looked at Pike’s semi corporeal form, wiping the tears away from her eyes.

Slowly, he reached a hand towards her in his silent thank you.

The others seemed to take this as an invitation and they crowded him on all sides, just holding him.

He heard sniffs and stifled tears, but Percival didn't care. He just let himself be held.

' _This. This is what is beautiful._ ’ Percival thought to himself, and he felt Vex gingerly intertwine her fingers with his. ‘ _Death is cruel and inevitable. Life is what makes it such a terrible thing._ ’

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [queenmoggy](http://queenmoggy.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if you want to stop by and cry with with me


End file.
